


any port in a storm

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Tales from the Shelterverse [19]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Dragon Age II - Act 1, F/F, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: Aeryn Hawke goes looking for a distraction.  Isabela is happy to oblige.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Isabela
Series: Tales from the Shelterverse [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/21436
Kudos: 10





	any port in a storm

“Hawke, I’m bored. What does a girl have to do around here to stir up some action?”

The cloy of incense and blood is lodged in her nostrils. It’s all Aeryn can smell, even here in the Hanged Man where everything smells of piss and stale stew and rat-flavored whiskey and it makes her a little crazy; wondering if Brother Vael’s skin would smell like myrrh if, the next time he lifted his hand and offered to bless her along with her mother and Bethany, she pressed her lips to the soft flesh of his wrist.

So when Isabela drawls out another complaint that drips slow off her painted lips, Aeryn slides into her space with intent, reaches across her and picks up her shot, letting the leather of her bracer slide across the canvas. Amusement shifts in those golden brown eyes to a challenge as Isabela looks down at Hawke with a lifted eyebrow. 

Aeryn smirks and drops the rum back. “I don’t know, pirate, but I am open to suggestions.”

Isabela’s bare knee slides against her thigh as she catches Corff’s attention. He fillsthe glasses again and Hawke pushes a couple of coppers his way. “No pockets to pick.”

“Too far from payday.” Isabela agrees. “No spider nests to clear out?”

“Got the last of them a week ago.” Now she can smell salt air and the oil Isabela dresses her knives with. Much better. Light glints off that stud in Isabela’s lip and Aeryn can’t help but stare. She’s never kissed anyone with piercings. What would it feel like, pressing against her own mouth?

“Not even a dragon for a hero to slay.” Isabela taunts. 

“No heroes here, anyway.” Aeryn, fighting impatience, runs one fingertip along the rolled edge of Isabela’s tall boot. The thigh under her hand tenses beautifully as she slides it down, trapped between silken skin and tanned leather. In a flash, she presses between Isabela and the bar, eyes fixed on the golden stud. She’s going to find out. 

Isabela’s room is dank and close, but Isabela’s mouth is hot and flavored with rum and Aeryn wonders if it’s possible to get drunk off the liquor in another person’s mouth. The stud is cold and then hot and the smooth hard metal is almost distracting her from the plush, chapped lips.

Their blades are dumped in a corner, leather falls in another heap. Isabela’s canvas jerkin is easily unlaced, but her own has buckles too many damn buckles between them and their skin and Aeryn is impatient again, with her fingers in Isabela’s long hair and her own thigh pressed up against the heat of Isabela’s crotch as her tongue traces the edge of the heavy collar. Metallic and cold, but the skin against it is salty and hot. Isabela finally wedges her fingers in the lacing of Aeryn’s trousers and Aeryn thrusts into the seeking digits.

“Hmm, Hawke, you are an eager one.” Aeryn is soaked, beyond eager and they spin down to the thin mattress and strokes a thumb across Isabela’s peaked nipple, before the generous flesh fills her hand and she can massage as well as suckle. “Not much of a talker, once you get going, though?” She murmurs against the hot pulse in the girl’s neck. Right before Hawke twists and shimmies down, taking a nibbling trail along her breast to suck that teased nipple into her mouth, suckling and worrying it with sharp teeth before heading lower.

“I do have rather better things I could be doing with my mouth.” Hawke looks up at her over Isabela’s lean torso, grey eyes wicked and dark. “but if you would like to discuss the price of silk in the market, by all means let’s get back to the bar.” 

A pointed tongue drifts over a small jeweled ring that decorates Isabela’s navel, with a growl that has her answering, “No...sweet thing, you go on with what you had planned.”

Hawke slides down between spread thighs and whispers over the pirate’s dark thatch. “You’re sure? I could always go for a conversation about…” An insistent hand presses her head down and she’s laughing when she first parts Isabela’s lips with her nose, breathing in musk and sweet tang and the drop of some spicy scent that Isabela has adorned her glory with, blood and incense forgotten for the moment..

Intense, that’s the right word for the little rogue that fate had dropped in Isabela’s lap...err, so to speak. She plays at being coy and smartmouthed, but underneath it she is all seething intensity, like whirlpools and reefs tucked into a sunlit bay. Hawke goes after Isabela’s clit with the same sort of drive that she goes for a throat and has her arching to meet the talented tongue, the fingers she teases along Isabela’s entrance. Two thrust inside with the rhythm that her tongue flutters. Hawke chuckles low at the whine Isabela can’t help as she works and the stutter, warmth of her breath just draws her higher. 

Fuck, she’s already coming hard and fast and with a bloom of heat and a giddy shriek as Hawke draws her fingers across that patch of inner wall, suckling with just a hint of teeth against her clit.

Hawke pulls back after a minute to appreciate the picture of Isabela is sure she makes; sprawled on the worn, slubby sheets, all tawny skin and freckles and glints of gold in the moonlight spilling through the room’s one small window, set high and square in the wall. She lifts her chin with a frown. “That window’s dangerous. Big enough to let a sneak in.”

Isabela slithered down to straddle her waist. “You think too much, little girl. Let’s fix that.” Hawke let her kiss her, tongue stroking hard and hot.

She palms Hawke’s mound as she does it and the girl thrusts into her hand again, all squirmy warmth and silent urgency and suddenly Isabela is focused on trying to get Hawke loud. 

She’s wet and hungry and needy and yanks the pirate over her, wanting the soft weight and the scent of the other woman surrounding her. Her leathers have worked down over her hips and thighs and finally Isabela yanks the trousers down around her ankles. 

Isabela catches an eye on a dark line of ink and presses Hawke’s thigh farther out and chuckles. “Full of surprises aren’t you?” She runs a rough thumb down the curved blade inked on the inside of the thigh, making the other woman squirm. “Cute.”

“Fair warning, right?” Hawke’s low voice is full of wicked promises. 

She returns the favor of an eager tongue, circling around the taut nubbin of sensitive nerves. Hawke’s tuned over-tight and it doesn’t take Isabela long to have her arching up to meet her, fingers clawing at the linens and heels thrumming against the bed frame she’s draped across. Nearly silent but for a huff of breath, she comes in waves, the tight muscles seizing wet and velvety against Isabela’s long, knobby fingers. 

They are panting and curved against each other just a moment, before Hawke pulls away and Isabela catches her face in a gleam of silvering moonlight. With her lipstain wiped away, the most of her eye makeup rubbed off against the thin pillow, Hawke looks…far too young for some of the things Isabela thinks she’s done. “How old are you anyway?” She can’t be…they’d celebrated Bethany’s eighteenth last month and Hawke’s not younger than the mage. But Isabela can’t stop thinking of her as a girl. 

There’s a sharpness to her smirk as the thin, fraying tunic pulls over her head and she shrugs into the leather jerkin. “Twenty-one, ‘Bela. No cradles to rob, here. Now…where’re my….” She snagged a boot from under the cot…”aha.” The boots are on and laced, the trousers hitched back up over the luscious backside and there are only a few dark marks on Hawke’s pale throat to show all of Isabela’s hard work.

Isabela doesn’t mean to ask her to stay but she doesn’t want to be bothered to dress again. It’s late enough as it is. Still. Manners. “You want someone to walk you home, Hawke?”

With a snort, she shakes her head. “Nah. Stay warm here in your nest. I can find my own way.”

“I imagine so. Let me know if something comes up.” Isabela slides back up on the bed and grins when Hawke piles the blanket up on top of her and tucks her feet in. “Aww, thanks.”

“Will do. Take care, pirate.” A jaunty wave over her shoulder and Hawke and her blades disappear out the door. “Thanks for the distraction.”


End file.
